


Let Shadows Die

by MissBaudelaire (IWillBeTheEndofYou)



Category: Darkiplier - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, RPF Alter Ego, mark fishbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom, sort of? - Fandom
Genre: Demon Sex, F/M, Insomnia, Rough Sex, Who can you trust?, counting heartbeats, creepy shadows, deals with the dark, infomercials are cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillBeTheEndofYou/pseuds/MissBaudelaire
Summary: The narrator finds herself unable to sleep. Is there a reason? Is it in her head? Or is there something more sinister at play?





	1. Dream On

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched a lot of infomercials

One night, I stopped being able to sleep. 

That's the only way I can describe it. I laid in my bed, and I stared at the ceiling. My room was perfect, the lights dimmed, the air cool enough to require exactly one blanket. I had my pillows plumped just the way I liked them, and my body ached in a delicious way that beckoned sleep.

But sleep did not come. 

There was nothing but me and the ceiling, the faint shadows that played across it. I counted the headlights that came across my window. I counted my heartbeats, I counted sheep. And still, sleep was not there.

I shrugged it off, decided it must have been too much caffeine. I sprayed lavender water, I sipped chamomile tea. I took warm baths, I listened to guided meditation. Night after night, I laid awake, counting, not counting.

Eventually, I wanted to peel the skin off my face.

I must have slept, truly. Even when you don't think you've slept, your eyes close and you have what's called micro sleeps. You are asleep, even for about ten seconds at a time. That's why they tell you not to drive when you're tired. It's so dangerous, you should pull over and sleep.

Which only helps, of course, if you can actually sleep.

But if you're me, you get nothing. Nothing except the creeping shadows that seem to be growing fingers. The fingers reached for me, wrapped around my ribs and squeezed. I gasped for breath, threw the blanket off me to chase away the sweat that was dripping down my forehead and pooling at the backs of my knees.

I kept trying to close my eyes tight, as if I clamped them the shadows would go. Not entirely sure why I thought that hiding in the dark would protect me from what was essentially the dark—it was a last ditch effort of some kind. If I thought I could stand the heat, I'd pull the blanket up too.

My doctor only shook his head, told me to sip more tea. Told me not to use my phone within half an hour of bed time, said something about blue light. He mentioned melatonin, but wouldn't give me anything stronger.

Perhaps I shouldn't have jumped right to Valium.

But I must have slept, because I saw him then.

I saw him standing in the corner of my room, tilting his head from one side to the other. I saw his hands clasped in front of him gently. I saw the crisp lines of his suit. I saw the way it hung from his shoulders. I saw the crease on his pants, I could imagine the way it must have fallen right to his shoes.

But what frightened me the most was his teeth.

I could see his smile, and the sharpness of those teeth, the stark whiteness made me sit up in bed. My heart pounded in my chest, and I stared wide eyed into that corner.

There was nothing there.

I laid back down, afraid to blink the rest of the night.

He came the next night. I could see he shape of his hair, combed tightly across his forehead. The faint light from my hallway nightlight reflected off the black of his shoes. He took two steps towards me, the corners of his lips rising slowly.

I wheezed out what I had wanted to be a scream. My body was frozen, seemingly glued to the bed. I couldn't even turn my head. He started to take one step, his teeth gleaming again. I could see the sharpened points of those teeth, and suddenly I did not want them nearer to me.

Like breaking ropes, I was able to sit up. 

And he was gone. 

That night I didn't even bother to lay back down.

When my eyelids burned like sandpaper, and my tongue tasted like cotton balls, I attempted to sleep again. It must have been at least a day later, my favorite infomercials were on television again. I did like the idea of setting it and forgetting it.

I laid in my bed, bone weary, aching, wanting sleep. When this all first began, I wanted sleep the way you want a turkey that you can smell cooking. Then I wanted sleep the way you want a banana split when you're dieting for the summer. Then I wanted it like starving. I needed it. I could feel my life slipping away.

But I must have slept, I kept telling myself. How else could I have seen him? How else would I have known he was there?

I had to have slept.

I laid down again, my body crying out for rest.

He was there almost instantly. The shadows swirled and undulated behind him. He walked towards me again, confidence oozing from every step. My body was frozen, and I could only wheeze in each breath. He bent over my bed, one hand pressing on the top of my head. He was burning hot, and I wondered faintly if this was why I was always roasting at night.

“I remember now,” he murmured in a voice that would have sent chills down my spine. It was deep and rumbly, and it seemed to hit my internal buttons just the way I liked. I wanted to rub my thighs together for entirely different reasons.

“Please,” I managed to choke out.

“Please what?” he murmured, his lips right against my ears.

“Please let me go.” 

“Oh darling,” he was laughing, and didn't THAT do something to me? “Don't you know that you belong to me.”


	2. The Sound of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really, REALLY liked infomercials when I was young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slightly graphic description of gore.

And he was gone just as suddenly as he had come. The sun was up, and I was sitting up in bed. My body was aching. I crawled out of bed and into the shower, hoping the warm water would soothe my muscles.

It must have been some kind of dream. It must have been a creepy nightmare. I poured my body wash onto my sponge and began to scrub under my arms. My skin tingled, and I felt myself shuddering. I didn't like the thought that his voice had done things to me, I didn't like thinking that a nightmare could turn me on.

Was it a nightmare if it turned me on?

I shook my head and turned to rinse my hair. I didn't want to think too much about this. I didn't want to remember the heat of him, or the sharpness of my teeth. It was better to just forget the whole thing. 

That night, after work, I sat on my couch. The world was still and dark outside, and I was curled into the corner of the couch. I had an afghan wrapped around my shoulders, and it was hard not to snuggle into the cozy nest I'd constructed out of pillows.

I'd wanted to sleep before. I'd been dying for it. And now I wanted to avoid it like I owed it money. I tucked my toes under the blanket against the evening chill and turned my gaze to the television.

It was late enough that the infomercials had started. It would be easy to flick on Netflix, or pull out my laptop and surf Youtube for awhile. I liked watching people play and fail at video games. I was terrible at them, and it made me feel good that other people struggled too.

But today, I just watched the infomercial, eager to see about what shiny new product would solve all my problems, or solve a problem I didn't know I had. I also enjoyed watching people stumble holding dishes, or open a cupboard and see dishware come spilling out. Like, think ahead. Don't over pack your shelves, sheesh.

The screen went black, with that faint static that often played in between scenes or shows. I frowned, reaching for my remote. But faint string music started to play, so I hesitated, waiting. A scene flicked onto the screen, and I pouted. I liked the ones with live studio audiences who would ooh and aah. I always wondered what happened to a person's life that they went to those things.

The scene today was a desk in the middle of a library, the kind behind personal injury lawyers in their commercials. I watched, curious if this was one of those fake doctors shilling sugar water medical cures. I saw some vaguely familiar shoes comes on scree and almost screamed when the figure came to sit behind the desk.

It was him again, that man from my dreams. 

“What the fuck,” I hissed, scrambling to change the channel.

But he was there, his hands folded on the desk top. And again. And again. I smashed the power button, hoping to make it make the screen go black. But even that seemed to fail me. He was still there, grinning at me.

“Hello my dear.” he smirked. “I missed you today. Did you miss me?”

“I'm dreaming.” I told myself. I clamped my hands over my eyes. “I'm dreaming, and I'm going to wake up.”

“Oh no,” he purred in that voice that made me wet as soon as I heard it. “You're wide awake, and this is very real.”

“Get away from me!” I shouted at the screen. He only laughed softly and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “What do you want from me?” I demanded.

“The most valuable thing you have.” I had nothing of value. I only shook my head and tried the power button again. I had no inheritance, nothing in my bank account. I used to think that at least I had my good health, but now I was shaky and jumpy. The button of course, did nothing.  
“I want your heart.”

“My heart?” I stared. “To eat?”

“In a manner of speaking.” he said thoughtfully.

I could see him reaching into my chest. I could almost feel the heat of his hand bursting into me, and then the cold rush of adrenaline as those fingers wrapped around my heart, beating and heavy in my chest. I could see him wrenching it out with a twist, ignoring my cry of pain. I could see those sharp teeth sinking in, blood running ruby thick down his chin.

“No!” I screamed, throwing the remote and running for my room. I dove into bed and pulled the blanket up over my head. I laid in the dark of my room, listening to the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.

I was almost certain that I could hear a dark, low, loud laughing ringing in my head.


	3. Chasing Your Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He comes again, this time in the tub.

I was certain all I needed was a long, hot bath. I'd gone to work, although I spent the day jumpy, peering out of the corners of my eyes, snapping at my coworkers for simple questions. I had opened up my computer and just stared at the screen most of the day.

My boss didn't say anything. I think he thought I was sick, or hung over. I know I looked like hell, the long dark marks under my eyes. My lips were dry and cracked, and I'd only had the energy to put my hair in a low ponytail.

But all day long, I was aware of the steady thumping of my heart. If I stayed still enough and stared down at my wrists, I could almost see my skin flickering in time with my pulse. If I didn't breathe too hard, I could hear the beat of my heart in my ears, letting my know that I was still alive.

Why would anyone want to eat my heart? 

When I got home, I kicked out of my shoes and dragged myself to the bathroom. I turned the water as hot as I dared, sure that would finally lull me. I dumped in Epsom salts, bubbles, a few drops of lavender oil. The bathroom turned steamy, sweet smelling, calming. With a faint smile, I dimmed the lights, peeled off my clothes and dropped myself into the water.

My skin instantly tingled with the heat of it, and the muscles on my back relaxed, some of the knots sliding out. I sank as low as I could, letting the water surround me, comfort me. My eyes slipped shut, and I drifted a bit.

There was a hand on my forehead, stroking the dry part of my face. I startled, thrashing suddenly, going underneath the water and coming up with a gasp, bubbles clinging to my skin. Standing there in the dimness was the shadowy figure I had known the night before.

“Please leave,” I coughed, still reeling from my unintentional baptism. He just smiled with too many too sharp teeth. His hand was cool, or perhaps my skin was just too warm from the bath. In spite of the bath, I began to shiver.

“I couldn't leave you here alone. You don't even know to get out a cold bath.” he clucked his tongue and reached into the water, plunging his hand to the bottom of the tub. Uncomfortably close to my bare hip. I let out an involuntary whimper, and bit my lip when he chuckled, low and dangerous, close to a growl.

The water was warmer, though. He'd made it warmer again, and I sat up, afraid of being burned. I saw then that he was staring at my chest, and crossed my arms over my tits with a blush, drawing up my legs.

“Why are you here?” I managed, my lip quivering. “I won't let you eat my heart.”

To my surprise, he carefully shed his suit jacket, hanging it on my towel rack. He sat then at the edge of my tub and picked up my bottle of shampoo. He poured some of the sticky gel in his hand and then place his palm on my head. I tried to flinch away and was surprised for him to shush me.

His fingers massaged my scalp, a foam forming at my roots. I wanted to relax, ached to just melt back into the warm water. I did love someone playing with my hair, and having my scalp massaged was close to heaven for me.

“You were nearly asleep.” his voice was close to a purr. “What woke you?”

“A strange shadow man, who is probably a manifestation of my anxiety and lack of sleep. He came in and put his hand on my head!” I was getting a little lippy, but I couldn't control myself. I was tired and afraid.

He laughed then, low and dark. A shudder went down my spine. I wasn't sure if I was terrified or intrigued. But his fingers pressed harder into my scalp. I moaned softly. I nearly gave into my desire to just give myself over to the feeling.

“Relax, dearest. The shadow man will take care of you.”

“And that's what I'm afraid of.” I mumbled.

He pulled my hair then, yanking my hair back. I stared up into his eyes, liquid pools of brown. The pupils expanded, inky and deep. Fear burst inside my chest and a bitter taste rose on my tongue. I tried to close my eyes, and he only yanked harder.

“Never doubt me, dearest. It only leads to trouble.” 

“You're not real.”

“I am as real as the hairs on your pretty head, or the rhythm of your heart.” and he released his grip. My scalp throbbed. He was particularly ginger then during his ministrations, as though contrite for the pain he had caused me.

I didn't speak again. He directed me to lay back in the water. I hesitated. My arms were still locked around my chest. The man looked up, allowing me to sink back into the bubbles, which seemed thicker. I was adequately protected in my giant tub. I had picked this apartment just for the wide, deep tub.

I still didn't want to lay back. He could push my head down, drown me easily in the lavender scented water. I laid back, closing my eyes. I didn't want to see it happening. He rinsed my hair and then sat me up again. 

“What's your name, anyway?”

“I'm called many ways. My true name you'd never be able to say.” Was that a challenge? I scowled and looked away. He laughed again, his fingers going through my wet hair to comb out any tangles.  
“I am Dark.”

“Dark?”

“Dark,” he confirmed. He handed me a towel, and before I could look back up, he was gone.


End file.
